


Something Wicked

by AutumnLily



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Birds, Cannibalism, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Hermione is amazing, M/M, Main Character Death, Multi, Read at your own discretion, Some parts may be OOC, This is why I am not allowed to write unsupervised, charlie and hermione should create a spin off series, insinuated beastiality, insinuated necrophilia, insinuated rape, no more apologies, not sorry, obvious torture, sorry - Freeform, things might get weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 19:11:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17167706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnLily/pseuds/AutumnLily
Summary: Dean and Charlie are on a case... a weird case, mixed with sinister beings, witchcraft, and cannibalism.The mythology is being pressed and tested, new worlds penetrating into their own, leading them to uncover a long hidden truth regarding a book series Charlie was certain had been written as fiction.Hermione Granger is being held captive in Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix and Voldemort have wicked intentions, their plot thick with distrust, manipulation, and the abuse of innocence.Draco and Hermione need to escape the Manor if they are to survive.Worlds collide in this (almost) complete mini-series.Who will save who?Who will survive?Who will perish?And who will thrive?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Slow burn with Dramione as end game.
> 
> I've wanted to see Hermione and Charlie together for a long time, if you know of any well written fics with this pairing hit me up.
> 
> I started writing this two nights ago. 
> 
> Once I started I couldn't stop. I spend Christmas day at my laptop, 11,000+ words later here we are.
> 
> I touch on some pretty nasty topics in this... 
> 
> Insinuated rape, necrophilia, bestiality. Very obvious torture, sexual abuse, neglect and a myriad of psychological abuse.
> 
> Please take this as your final warning.
> 
> If any of the above make you uncomfortable, or trigger you, just click the "X" and find some fluff - no need to punish yourself by pursuing the pathway snaking through my twisted mind.
> 
> If you proceed, enjoy!

Charlie pulled the door closed and settled behind the passenger seat.

“Another disappearance was reported. A woman and her daughter. All entrances and exits were locked, no forced entry, the only sign of disturbance was green powder near her fireplace. Local copper called Bobby instead of the FBI. Said she remembered he helped her husband a few years ago with a Ghoul problem. 

Her husband is dead now, seems to have died of natural causes. She didn’t want to alert the authorities in case it’s something they can’t solve. Said she knows these things are time sensitive and to get our arses across to Chicago immediately.”

Dean turned to the back seat to face Charlie.

“Another disappearance? I haven’t heard about the first?”

“Sam got a call in the middle of the night from a Vamp girl that got away? Said she was still vegetarian, whatever that means, and that she had started taking in wayward kids orphaned by monsters. One of her girls is gone. Sam packed up and left, he said Vamps don’t do too well with emotional regulation, that if this 

Vamp chick got too upset, she may do something she’d regret. I think his plan is to take the kids from her and send them to Jodi until this girl is found and things can return to normal.”

“If Sam’s not coming, why are you in the back?”

Charlie leant back and put her feet up on the bench seat, arms behind her head and closed her eyes.

“I like having a chauffeur. Drive, man-slave, we have kids to save!”

“I liked you better when all this stuff still frightened you.”

“You liked me best before you found out I like girls.”

“Touché.”

Dean put Baby in gear, then pressed play on the tape player. The sounds of ACDC lingered behind the car as they pulled on to the highway.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione’s cauldron bubbled and fizzed. Her hair hung dangerously close to the potion, purple smoke curling around her face as she stirred and muttered incantations. 

The dungeon was cold from the breeze blowing in from the high, barred slivers of windows, and bright from the grey light streaming down, and the tens of candles Draco had lit. 

Draco watched with curiosity from a safe distance. Hermione’s hair was rustling slightly, and he saw goose bumps on her exposed forearm.

Hermione looked over her shoulder and tilted her head towards the dragon scale powder he had crushed earlier. She was not allowed alone with ingredients, and not permitted a wand without supervision. He brought her the small bowl and watched in fascination as, without stopping her stirring or murmurs, 

Hermione pointed her wand at the bowl and levitated the precise amount into the mix.

Draco stepped back as the bubbles became larger, erupting in golden swirls which reached the roof of the dungeon. Hermione sucked in her breathe and stopped stirring as one particularly enormous bubble bounced atop the liquid towards her. The moment her hand stilled the potion calmed, turning into a translucent cotton candy pink.

She sniffed tentatively.

“Do you think I added too much dragon scale powder?”

“You know you did it perfectly.” He sneered. “My father wouldn’t have kept you alive if you weren’t as brilliant as accused.”

Her eyes turned up at the corners, but she showed no other sign she’d heard him.

“Only one way to know. Accio goblet!” A glass chalice flew by Draco’s face into Hermione’s outstretched hand. 

“Watch it, Granger!”

She flicked her wrist and a fountain poured from cauldron into the goblet. She offered it to Draco.

“You think I’m going to poison myself?” Draco chortled. “No, witch, you drink first.”

“I thought it was only polite to offer it to my Master.” She shrugged.

“A Malfoy knows their manners. Lady’s always come first.”

She raised an eyebrow and then poured the liquid into her mouth. She swilled it, moving it from one side to the other, allowing it to rest on her tongue, before swallowing. She conjured a glass vial from her pocket and filled it with the pink liquid, scourgifying the now empty cauldron.

Draco took it from her and placed it in his breast pocket. 

He liked how soft her hand was when their fingers made contact.

“Now we wait.” She smiled as the sound of a chirping bird penetrated the dungeon.

“Pray tell, Granger, for how long do we wait?”

“Until we see if it is successful.”

Draco huffed, his breath blowing his blonde limp fringe away from his silver eyes. 

“Well, we don’t have to wait her.” Draco pointed his wand at Hermione. It pained him to do so, but not doing so would draw more attention. Her wand disappeared from her hand and he felt it in his breast pocket. The shackles that had moments ago been invisible and lightweight reappeared around her ankles, wrists, waist and neck, the chains magically enchanted to pull her precisely two steps behind Draco. 

“Come along, Mudblood.”

Hermione growled under her breath, but the shackles prevented her verbal response. Draco began moving towards the door and Hermione was obliged to follow. 

It hurt less when she walked of her own volition. If she chose to defy, the shackles burnt her skin as they forced her forward.   
“Mud” was still a glistening pink word on her right ankle, “Blood” on her left. The one on her waist would tighten, a single banded corset-like structure pressing against her diaphragm and pushing the air from her body. Her wrists would tighten, cutting off circulation to her hands, turning white fingers purple, making the skin under her nails itch, and causing her hands to tear away pieces of her own skin, attacking her forearms, and if she continued disobeying her chains, her nails would start cutting into her face. The one around her neck… she hadn’t yet pushed as far as to see how that worked. She hoped she would never find out. 

Bellatrix was imaginative and creative, and these shackles were some of the tamest pieces of enchanted slave adornments in the Malfoy Manor. 

Hermione knew she was extremely lucky she was as talented as she was. If they hadn’t required the use of her knowledge, she’d be down in the dungeons with the other Mudbloods… Bellatrix was a cruel child, gathering insects just to pull off their wings.

Hermione heard their screams at night.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean’s knock echoed loudly through the house. He looked sideways at Charlie who nodded. They’d been standing on the porch for close to ten minutes, had knocked twice, and were becoming suspicious. Two inches of pristine, unmarked snow in the drive signalled that the car had not recently left the property. 

The silence emanating from behind the front door was deafening. Charlie had dealt with families in all states of emotional distress and knew from experience that even those who became comatose or drank themselves into oblivion made their floor boards creak when they paced their child’s empty room or shuffled to the bar to refill their tumbler. There was no noise; no voices or tv, no footsteps, no crockery banging in a kitchen sink, no shattering of a glass dropped from a shaking hand.

Dean slunk off to the left, covertly watching the street as he made his way around the side of the house. Charlie slipped off to the right. She peeked through the loungeroom window as she made her way to the back but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The house was clean, but empty.

She turned around the south corner and saw Dean standing in the open doorframe leading in to the rear of the house, gun held steady aiming forwards. He twitched his elbow, signalling her that it was safe, but to go easy, take precaution. She silently inched towards him, her breath quickening. She made a concerted effort to calm her body and remind herself that adrenaline could lead to mistakes. 

Dean stepped inside and to the left, Charlie followed suit to the right, flanking the door. They each scanned the room searching for signs of life. The house was clean. 

Too clean.

“There’s something wrong.” Dean’s whisper seemed to echo down the corridor and bounce off the walls back at them. Charlie nodded in agreement. She pointed to the corridor and then up. Dean pointed at his chest then aimed his thumb towards the kitchen. 

They separated.

Charlie kept her steps light, her movements smooth. 

Something bad had happened here, she could feel it. Her skin was itching, and her hair was on edge. 

A scraping noise startled her, as something touched her foot and she jumped backwards with cat-like grace, her breath catching and causing her to cough loudly. 

So much for undercover.

Knowing it was unlikely anyone was in the house with them, and that if someone was, they had heard her. Charlie threw her caution aside and reached for the corridor light switch. It was dark in the hallway. The light cast a reflection off a silver blade on the floor at her feet. She went to pick it up, but Dean’s hand slapped her out of the way.

“Don’t touch it.” He took off his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt. He slipped the sleeves down his arms, a white singlet underneath straining over his muscular frame. Charlie rolled her eyes.

“Most women feel lucky to see this.” He wiggled his eyebrows and flexed his right bicep as he reached down and wrapped the knife in his shirt. 

“My ex-girlfriend was a firefighter. I’m not impressed.” Dean’s eyes bulged as Charlie laughed.

“Why can’t we touch it?” 

“You can touch if you want, I’d be honoured to be your first.” Dean smirked.

“The knife, you dingbat!”

Dean’s smile dropped. “I found a hex bag in the kitchen.”

Their eyes met as they said in unison… “Witches.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione’s shackles dragged across the floor boards and thudded as she followed Draco up the stair case. Draco had attempted to remove some of his aunt’s enchantments and had managed to lighten the weight of the shackles and loosen them slightly. It offered a touch of ease and comfortability, however she had to pretend as though they were pulling on her. Her back hurt from pretending to stoop, and her body was tired from the poor nutrition and lack of exercise.

They reached the second floor and heard footsteps approaching.

Hermione sank into herself, cowering behind Draco. 

Draco pulled himself to his full height, stretched his shoulders out to take up as much room as possible, and raised his chin. 

He may be the lowest in the household pecking order, but he was still a Malfoy. Whether it was his Aunt, his Master, or one of their subordinates, he would not be seen to be anything less than powerful, confident and proud.

Rodolphus appeared from the shadows. He inclined his head to his nephew-by-marriage.

“Still playing ‘house’ with your pet Mudblood, young Malfoy?” Rodolphus leered at Hermione. 

At moments like this she was secretly grateful for the silencing charms on her chains. She never knew if she would verbally attack or burst into tears. 

“This Mudblood belongs to me, Uncle, and it would be wise of you to respect the boundaries of my ownership. I have told you I will not share my property. I will not trade for one of yours.”

“Why are you attached to it, Draco? Did it not try to harm you during your schooling years? Did it not try to bring down your Master? Did this filth not best you in every class?”

“You are, of course, correct on all accounts. It is not attachment, but retribution that binds this bond. You do not seem to understand. I own her. She is bound to do my bidding, whatever I want, whenever I want, whatever I say, with no regard for her own will. The sweetness of having power over a stupid little witch who once thought herself a superior Gryffindor is more delicious than century aged goblin made wine.”

“Well, then, Draco… tell her to come to my chambers this evening.”

“Are you challenging my ownership?”

“I am challenging the duration and commitment of it. If she really means nothing to you but revenge, then serve it cold and force her to submit to me. I see her   
eyes, Draco. She is not broken. I have ways to bend her so that her mind will think for you and she will believe her desire to please you is her own.”

“I appreciate your offer, Uncle. Give me time. If, by your birthday, she has not submitted – completely – then I will graciously accept.”   
Rodolphus stared at Draco, one eye crinkling up, the other wide. A smile slowly spread.

“I wish you luck with your Dominance, Draco… but must admit, I hope you fail. I would so enjoy educating her on the true dynamics between the Purebloods and the Mudbloods.”

Rodolphus sank back into the shadows and began his descent.

Hermione stared determinedly at the window, wishing she were as free as the ascending blackbird.

Malfoy reached behind him. 

Hermione’s fingers grazed his palm, then recoiled as the screaming began. 

Bellatrix was starting early today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have ten complete chapters.
> 
> I think this will be complete at fifteen.
> 
> The rate I'm writing, should be done within the week.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean held out the small green silk bag, an inverted pentacle embroidered in silver upon the fabric. 

Charlie sneered. “Do we open it to see what we’re dealing with, or burn it?”

“I think we open it. The kids gone, the mom’s not here, it’s definitely not a protection baggie.”

Dean pulled the Demon blade from his belt and sliced the top of the Hex bag open. He placed it on the floor and made sure to avoid contact with the contents.   
An assortment of herbs, scales and teeth spilled to the floor, along with a lock of curly black hair tied into itself in a bow which looked as though it had been dipped in blood. 

“That’s gross.” Charlie could smell the rotting teeth and the decaying blood. 

“Why did it have to be witches. I tell you, Charlie, no good comes from witches. They’re disgusting. All bones and bodily fluids.”

“I thought you rather liked bodily fluids on your bone…” Charlie quipped. 

Dean apparently missed her joke.

“I think that’s vervain… that one is definitely mugwort… I think - can you smell that - rosemary? And black salt.” 

“Black salt with blood is never a good sign.”

“No.”

They rose together. Charlie continued her way to the staircase. She locked eyes with Dean at the bottom. He nodded his agreement, and together they mounted their way to the upper level.

The second floor was in darkness. All doors along the hall were closed, no light coming from the crack beneath. 

Charlie’s itching increased. Her blood was pumping through her veins, screaming at her to run. Her head began to feel a pressure, her temporal lobes throbbing with each forward step.

“There.” She pointed to the door at the end of the hall, facing them. When she had seen the door, her eyes had involuntarily closed, and her nerve endings lit up in burning pain. 

“Dean… I can’t breathe…” Charlie began sinking as Dean wrapped an arm under her shoulder, preventing her from landing on her coccyx. 

“Charlie?” 

“I need to leave. Now.” Her breath was short, her words strained. Dean looked between Charlie and the door at the end of the hallway. He slipped an arm under her knees and picked her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and coughed, blood spattering on his white singlet. 

Dean took the stairs two at a time. Once they reached the ground floor, he placed her on the floor next to the front door and wound a window open. He entered the kitchen as she caught her breath and came back with a mug of water. 

“What happened? Are you ok? Charlie, talk to me!”

“That door, Dean. There’s something in there and it doesn’t want me near it. I felt like I was going to die!” Charlie swilled water in her mouth and spat the pink   
water into the cup. She coughed again but this time no blood escaped her mouth. 

“I feel… better.” She stood up unsteadily, the fresh air soothing her lungs. She opened the front door and stepped outside. “I feel fine.”

“You stay here. I’m going back upstairs.”

“I don’t think you should, DEAN!” Charlie yelled after him as he pounded the stairs.

Dean ran to the door at the end of the hall and entered the dark room with the blade held high.

The smell of the rotting corpse hit him with such force he stumbled backwards into the grate of the fireplace.

Dean felt himself hurtling through the air. Instead of smacking against a wall he started falling. Images swam in front of his eyes, an empty bedroom, rooms full   
of people eating dinner, sitting on rugs placing jigsaw pieces together, a young girl on her fathers lap with a book in hand, a toddler’s face very close to Dean’s own. Dean screamed, but none heard him. He began to feel ill, a churning in his stomach, as glittery green powder clouded his view.

He closed his eyes and held his breath, not wanting to suck in whatever poison was floating about.

His face collided with a cold stone. His body was bruised and felt as though he had been wrung out.

He coughed and stood.

He was in a dungeon. 

There was no other word for it.

A child was hovering upside down above a stone basin, her neck slit. Her blood spurted in slow motion, as though it had been enchanted to flow slowly, across the bare body of an angular, exquisite woman. Her ringleted hair was black and covered in droplets of blood. Her hands smeared the thick liquid across her breasts, massaging it in. Her mouth was open, she was savouring the metallic taste of the child’s essence.

A lady was standing close by, close enough to have her bare feet speckled with the blood bouncing from the stone. She, too, was nude. Judging by her face she was the child’s mother. She was frozen, her body not visibly bound by anything, but unable to move. 

She could still scream.

The lady in the bath cackled and opened her eyes. They narrowed when they saw Dean.

“What do we have here?” She raised herself and floated towards him, her feet dangling limply just above the stone floor, trailing blood. 

“You’re a witch.”

“Yeeesssssss.” She hissed. “I am Pureblood. And what ….” She sniffed, “Are you?”

“I’m a hunter!” Dean stepped back, and she moved with him. She was not afraid. Her eyes were wild, there was something in them that made Dean feel uneasy. 

His fingers gripped the handle of the Demon knife pressed against his hip. 

“You’re not hhuuuuummmannnn.” Her words came out elongated, slow. Dean felt compelled to listen to her. 

She moved around him, her tongue flickering in and out of her mouth. Dean’s vision failed him. For a moment he could have sworn she had the torso of a woman, but the tail of a snake. He shook his head.

“I’m more than Human. I’m Michael’s vessel. I’ve fought Lucifer. I’ve killed witches.”

“Sooo haavvveee I.” She smiled sweetly at him. 

Blood stained her teeth.

Dean fought an impulse to reach out and stroke her. 

Her madness was beautiful, her beauty was maddening.

“How did you cooommeee to be heerrreee?”

“I’m here for the child.”

“You maaayyyy take heeeerrrrr. She is usseee to meee, no looongerrrr.”

Dean struggled to understand.

The naked, blood covered witch continued hovering, watching him with curiosity as he took a tentative step towards the child. When he understood she was not going to stop him he quickly covered the distance, grabbed the child and felt her pulse. It was weak, but it was there. 

A crunching sound distracted him. He turned.

The witch had sunk her teeth into the neck of the frozen mother. The mother’s blood was violently bursting forwards, the witch was suckling the gaping wound, flesh in between her teeth.

“Yooooouuu take the fruit. I’ll keeeeep the woooommb.” She bit into the neck again, nearly severing the head from the torso. She chewed the raw flesh and kept her eyes on Dean. 

It was hopeless. The mother was dead.

He had a chance to save the child.

He ran towards the spot he had appeared, but found no door, just a fireplace. Without thinking he jumped into the grate to look for a ladder, a way out of the dungeon, and the room swam away as he was jerked back into the time-space lapse. 

He saw the faces again, the girl on her father’s lap had fallen asleep, the father looked ready to pass out too. The toddler was gone, their living room now empty. The family with their jigsaw was still there, the eldest child’s tongue poking from their mouth. A blonde man pressing a brunette woman against a four-post bed. A dining table covered in plates, being cleared by dwarves. 

Dean knew he was losing his mind. The dwarfed people had looked mutated, with elongated ears, dressed in rags.   
He clutched the child tighter and the spinning began to slow. He turned so he would not land on top of her, and instead found himself falling backwards. He fell backwards from the livingroom fireplace, green powder falling from his clothing as he stood and carried the girl to the front door, shouting as he ran.

“Charlie, start the car!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione was caught between the thick wooden post of his bed, and his chest. 

Her breath was heaving. 

Having him was her only respite. 

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her face to his collarbone. He softly stroked the hairline on the nape of her neck. 

“It’s ok. We’ll be out of here before this moon cycle is through. Please, Hermione, don’t let him get to you. He will never touch you.” 

“Draco, please… you don’t understand…” Her words were muffled as her mouth moved against his bed robes.

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t…”

“I can’t help if I don’t know what the problem is!”

“I CAN’T!”

“You mean… you’ve been enchanted?”

She nodded against him.

“Can we… can we try to find a way around the spell?” He felt her nod and continued his line of questioning.

“Was it Rodolphus?” 

She shook her head.

“Nott?” Another no.

“Crabbe?” No.

“Goyle?” No.

“Avery?” No.

Draco’s head was hurting. 

He dragged the memories out from the box in which he kept them locked. 

The night Harry Potter had fallen.

The night the Dark Lord had claimed victory.

The Golden Boy.

The Boy Who Lived.

Dead.

He remembered the moments before it happened.

Ginger’s mother duelling his Aunt, Bellatrix cackling like a banshee as a spell hit her in the chest and she fell backwards smiling. Draco knew she wasn’t dead, but that the plan was to allow someone to think they’d defeated her. To drop their guard slightly.

Cheers erupted as his Aunt’s limp body collapsed.

Voldemort took Bellatrix’s false death as his cue. He aimed his wand high, Harry mimicking the action, chatting and prodding, so confident that he had understood what was to happen. Harry had allegedly died in the forest. Draco’s mother had told Draco she had felt Potter’s heart. 

Everything had gone to plan.

Potter cast his spell as the Dark Lord cast his.

Potter’s wand split down the middle.

His spell married Voldemort’s, bounced off the smiling snake-like face and ricocheted straight into Harry’s chest. 

The hall was silent as he fell, the crack of his skull on the stones sickening and shocking.

Their hope was lost.

Their future was now untold.

Their story would be unsung, their glory washed away in the streaming flow of the blood of James and Lily’s son.

Everyone who had died in the fight had perished in vain.

The cries that echoed through the school caused physical pain to all who heard.

Narcissa had grabbed Draco by the forearm and dragged him from the hall. They scarpered across the bridge, and disapparated home.

Malfoy Manor was only quiet a short while.

His father’s inner circle began popping in, one by one, each dragging two or more young witches and wizards by the hair, laughing manically at their victory.

Lucius had given them full access to the Manor, bar the dungeon which belonged to the Dark Lord, and Draco’s wing. 

Draco had watched as one by one his school mates, members of their families, members of the Order, members of the Ministry, and an array of others had   
been squirrelled into the Manor, spirited off to a drawing room, a guest room, a bathroom.

Draco still heard their anguish when he closed his eyes at night.

Ginny’s had been the loudest.

Fenrir ravaged her, not even bothering to remove his prey to a private room. Snarling like the animal he was, and chuckling like a madman, he penetrated her with his teeth, and his weapons. Fenrir had howled as he came. She had been thrown against a wall when he was done, her clothing torn, her body mutilated, a cloudy liquid stream seeping down her legs. 

Draco had turned away from her lifeless eyes.

His Aunt had appeared next. 

She had only one prisoner of war.

Hermione Granger.

“Now I get to finish what I started!” Bellatrix had broken into high pitched giggles as Hermione struggled.

Bellatrix pointed her wand at Hermione and the shackles had appeared. Hermione fell to the floor under the weight.

“I’ll never do your bidding!” Hermione shouted, her voice catching. “I’d rather die!”

“Now, now, we can’t have you being defiant, young woman. A lady in Malfoy Manor always speaks in turn, and only when spoken to. Isn’t that right, Draco?”

Draco felt ill. He caught Hermione’s eye and saw the imperceptible nod she offered him.

He understood.

He had to continue playing his role.

“A lady learns her place quickly.” Draco strode towards Hermione, standing over her. 

He saw relief wash over her face as his arm swung.

He backhanded her with such intensity she fell from her knees to her back. 

She lay on the floor panting, staring up at him.

Please forgive me… he thought, as he brought his foot to her side. He tried to keep the beating easy, but knew he had to hurt her to prove his allegiance to the Dark Lord.

Bellatrix was observing with wide eyes, her face ecstatic, her chest bouncing. 

She began hovering – something Draco had not known her to have the ability to do prior to the transformation from the Dark Lord.

He thought he saw Nagini at her feet… but that was impossible. The snake had been sacrificed.

Draco grabbed a handful of Hermione’s hair and brought her bleeding, swollen face to his. He leaned in and bit her cheek, drawing blood.

“Draco, no!” Bellatrix hissed at him. “Her blood is impure! Do not ingest!”

“Forgive me, Auntie. I got carried away.” He turned, apologetic to Bellatrix. Her fingers slid inside his mouth attempting to clean it of the Mudblood contaminate. 

“Draco, did you swallow?” She hissed at him with urgency.

“Yes, Auntie. You taught me to enjoy my victories.”

“No! What have you done, you stupid, stupid boy!” 

“Why are you angry, Auntie? Am I not supposed to thrive in the heat of the moment, enjoy the taste of the kill?” Draco asked with just the right amount of sincerity and concern that Bellatrix cursed.

“I forgot you haven’t been taught seventh year blood magic. You’ve just blood bonded with this piece of filth. She was supposed to be the vessel for the Dark Lord. Your father spared her life, so she could experiment with the newest, oldest, and most potent of magic. Now… now we have to kill her.”

“It seems a waste…” Draco stroked his chin thoughtfully, smearing more of Hermione’s blood across his face. He enjoyed seeing his Auntie squirm.

“No matter! Avada - ”

Bellatrix’s wand flew from her hand.

“No. You just said I have bonded with her. I am now in control of the Dark Lord’s most treasured possession? Auntie, you must see the value here. I now own her body. Give me time and I will use this bond to own her mind.”

“An interesting idea, child. How do you propose to force her to do your bidding?”

Draco cast a muffliato at Hermione. Bellatrix raised an eyebrow.

“I won’t force her, Auntie. She is Hermione Granger. She will never bend to the will of the Dark Lord’s server. She’d rather die than serve our agenda.”

“What are you saying?”

“I will coerce her, manipulate her, gently. I will show her some small kindnesses while she is trapped here. I will, without directly saying so, insinuate I am on her side. I will make false confessions to her, pretend to see the error of my ways. I will convince her that the spells we experiment on together are to help her, to help free her, to help end the Dark Lord. She will come to see my assistance as her only way out. She will yield to me. I can make this so.”

“Mount her, now. Show me your will and your command. You must first prove to me that if your way won’t work, you have it in you to force her.”

“Auntie, if I am to feign kindness to her, beginning this dynamic with force will set me back months.”

“Do it, Draco. Or I will.”

Draco stared at Bellatrix. He’d never known his Aunt to have a sexual desire for her husband. Draco thought this was more about force, power and control, than erotic excitement. 

He pointed his wand at Hermione and levitated her to his room, his Auntie following.

When he had roughly dropped Hermione on his rug, he turned to face Bellatrix.

“You won’t be watching us, Auntie.”

“But I’ll be listening.”

Draco stepped inside his room and shut the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean and Charlie were sitting in the front seat of Baby, Dean’s fingers wrapped tightly around his cell, Charlie’s nose so close to her laptop screen her eyes were turning inwards.

“Thank you! No, no, thank you! Of course. Yes. Thank you!” Charlie shut her laptop and turned to Dean as he hung up. “She’s going to pull through. They gave   
her blood infusions, and her body accepted it. Sometimes it doesn’t, did you know that?”

“Of course, I know that, and so should you, the amount of blood I’ve seen you and Sam lose!”

“Nah, we have Cass, we don’t need a medic.”

“Fair point. So, they gave her blood?”

“They closed her throat. They had her in the system already, apparently, she gets severe headaches, so her blood type, her emergency contact, her allergies, all on file. Her Grandma is coming up to take care of her, because they couldn’t reach her mom.”

“Yeah, Dean, what happened there? You said the mom was forced to watch? And then the witch ate her?”

“Charlie, man, it was messed up. Nearly lost my appetite.”

“Nearly? Tell me the rest over dinner.” Charlie’s stomach rumbled as Dean started the car.

Dean’s phone rang. He threw it at Charlie as he pulled out of the carpark.

“Dean? We’ve got a problem!” 

“Hey Sam!”

“Charlie?”

“Dean’s driving.”

“Oh, right. Charlie, tell Dean we have a problem.”

“I can hear ya, buddy, she put you on loud speaker.”

“Dean, it’s witches.”

“Yeah, Sam. I know. Already crossed paths with her. She’s some kind of… levitating, blood-bathing, child killing cannibal witch.”

“What?”

“Yeah, and Sam, we found one of the kids. Not the one we were looking for, but one that lived close by. There’s some sort of portal in the upstairs bedroom of the most recent kidnapping victim. The mom’s probably been taken, too. No sign of life at the house. Car hasn’t been moved in days.”

“Right. Did you find a - ”

“Yep, found the Hex bag, in the kitchen.”

“Me, too.”

“How long ago?”

“Just now.”

“You been gone how long?”

“Dean! You know these things take time.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Any weird disturbances upstairs?”

“One story house, nothing out of the ordinary. What did you see?”

“Nothing. Charlie had some sort of allergic reaction to the magic. Started coughing up blood, got all white, collapsed. Took her away from the portal entrance, she perked right back up. Taking her for steak and pie, hearty dinner will sort her out. Oh, and the kid will survive!”

“Good work, guys. The mom?”

“You remember I mentioned cannibalism?”

“Yeah – oh. Right.”

“Are you still near the house?”

“Yeah.”

“Go back. Check every room. I found the dad dead in the bedroom before I fell into the portal... I fell down some sort of Dr. Who whirlwind. I saw things. Weird things.”

“Bad things?”

“Happy families…” Dean shuddered. “They’re all thinking they’re safe. No idea this witch has her own doorway into their homes.”

Charlie reached over and patted his leg.

“You’ll come out in a dungeon. She didn’t attack me, dude. I think it’s some sort of ritual. I don’t know what for, and why. She sniffed me.”

“She sniffed you?”

“Yeah, man. I was violated!”

“Mhm. Well, I’ll go search the house for the portal to the levitating, blood bathing, child killing cannibal witch. You guys heading back to the bunker?”

“Yeah, man. Keep Cass close. He might be able to identify whatever the hell she is.”

“Yep. Bye.”

“Catchya.”

“Bye, Sam!”

“Bye, Charlie.”

“Bye Dean!”

“Hey, Cass!”

“Bye, Cass!”

“Good bye Charlie.”

Charlie pressed the red button and Dean sighed.

“So that witch thing has at least two more kids that we know of. Who knows how many she’s taken before this case came to our attention. Charlie. Look into the kids, their families, their schools, find whatever it is they have in common. Focus on what we know – she’s a witch, so they’d have a magical draw for her, it might be age, or blood type, or -”

“Heritage.”

“Huh?”

“I was researching while you were on the phone. They’re all indirectly related to a really old family, British blood.”

“Yeah?”

“The Peverells.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco woke in panic.

He hated reminiscing on that day.

He knew Hermione hadn’t been touched. Once he’d entered his room, he’d thrown the muffliato from Hermione’s ears to the doorway. 

“Bellatrix has instructed me to… hurt you…”

Hermione’s eyes widened. 

“Please, just listen. She is at the door. She is expecting to hear this. I am going to clean your wounds, I need you to cry for me.” He lifted the silencing charm and turned her shackles invisible and weightless.

Hermione was so bruised that as he ran his wand over her wounds casting non-verbal healing charms, she elicited real whimpers and discontent.

Draco heard Bellatrix cackling through the door, followed by receding footsteps. 

Hermione stirred in his bed next to him bringing him back to the present.

“Draco?”

“It’s ok. I’m here. We’re alright.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t go back out there and pretend anymore.”

“You don’t have to. Hermione, I didn’t cast the spell over your shackles this morning – and you’re talking.”

She sat up quickly and jumped from the bed. Her body was free of all adornments. She stretched her arms, lifted her legs, breathed deeply flexing her diaphragm, and rotated her neck. 

“Draco!” She span in front of his fireplace, her arms wide. “It worked!”

Draco smiled. “When do we make our run?”

“Oh, Morgana! Draco, I, I don’t know. My head hasn’t been right, I’ve, I was so focused on this potion I hadn’t considered our next move.”

“It’s ok. I’ve taken care of it.”

“How?”

“Your old DA coins. You had one in your pocket when you were brought here. It must have rolled out. I recognised it, I hid it. I checked it every few days, and then, a month ago, a message appeared.”

Draco went to his fireplace and tapped the third stone on the top left side. An empty chamber appeared. Draco reached in and took the coin out, bringing it to 

Hermione who was sat wide eyed on his bed.

She fingered the coin gently, lost in thought and memories.

Before Harry had died.

Before Dumbledore had died.

Before her life had been turned upside down.

When she still had hope.

The inscription had indeed changed from the last time she’d viewed the coin. It was one she had picked up on her last trip out of the Room of Requirement. 

Moments before the social order collapsed.

She remembered thinking to herself, we have Harry Potter, and we’ve only got the snake left to destroy… we can do this.

And then she’d seen the coin on a vacant cushion and pocketed it.

A reminder of the days when they could still pretend to have innocence.

The text along the perimeter of the coin began glowing, a tiny curled font.

'If your Army has fallen, yet strong is your will  
Join us where the river stands still.'

“I haven’t figured it out, yet. Obviously, the Army refers to the Order -”

“It’s Luna Lovegood’s property, the bend in the river behind her home has been enchanted to stand still in time. It was Luna’s mothers favourite place before she died.”

“Luna survived?”

“We’re going to find out!”

Hermione raised an empty hand and her wand appeared.

“Wow,” stated Draco surprised. “You’re becoming extremely proficient in non-verbal.”

“Yes, I added a touch of verbena and star dust to the potion to increase my internal powers and use my body to channel like a wand. It is very old magic, and very rare. I did it at the last minute, as you were crushing the dragon scales. I saw the star dust sitting next to a feather, and I know how hard it is to come by… I just thought… well, it’s worked.” She slipped the small pink vial out of her robes. “If you’re going to free yourself of Bellatrix’s charms, you need to drink this now.”

Draco popped the cork and swigged.

“I’d have drunk it yesterday with you downstairs, but...”

“I know. Keeping up appearances is difficult on all sides.”

Draco felt the pull again. He wanted to tell Hermione how much taking care of her meant to him. How he had always wanted to protect her, not harm her or hurt her, but his orders from Dumbledore, from the moment he stepped foot on campus, was to huddle by Snape’s side, to play the baby-turncoat, to take over as the double-crosser should Snape ever fail.

Hermione had found a message in her copy of Tale of Beedle the Bard. Dumbledore had placed a charm on the last page. She had finished the book and was about to close it when his head floated up, looked around to ensure solitude, and then informed Hermione that whilst Lucius was truly a Death Eater, Narcissa and Draco were working to bring down the Dark Lord from within his own chambers. That she and Draco would need to keep up the charade until the Dark Lord had fallen. That there was a plan in place, but should it fail, there was a plan B, and a plan C. Only time would reveal them.

Hermione tapped the coin with the tip of her wand.

'Luna?'

The response was immediate.

'No, you can’t be Luna, I am Luna.'

Hermione smiled.

'Luna, is this a safe channel of communication?'

'No, there’s a stranger talking to me.'

'I’m not a stranger, you know me, but I can’t reveal my name until I can be sure it is really you.'

'To be sure of anything one must question everything, Hermione.'

'Luna! How did you know?'

'No one else who contacted me cared about security, they sought safety. Are you safe?'

'Yes, Luna. I am. But not for long. I need a place to hide. I’ll be bringing someone with me.'

'Is it Draco Malfoy?'

'I can’t tell you right now.'

'No, of course not, I’ll act very surprised when I see him.'

Hermione and Draco both stifled their giggles.

'I saw his aunt take you. She tried to take me, but Grawp battered her away. He put me on his shoulders and we wandered into the forest to wait until the fighting stopped.'

'Luna, that is incredible. Who else is with you?'

The door to Draco’s room flung open. 

Hermione dropped the coin in the bed and wriggled closer to Draco feigning fear from the intruder, as a scared puppy would at the feet of its master.

The Dark Lord stood in the doorway, smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

“Tell me again what you think this thing is?” Dean put his hands in his head and sighed.

“A Lamia.” Sam span the computer around to show Dean an image of a beautiful feminine face, and torso, with the tail of a snake.

“And why is the Lamia taking kids?”

“Well, I have a theory. Look, the Lore states that Lamia’s are created one of two ways – they are either born from the direct line of the original Lamia, or they are created using the blood of the Lamia. And the blood rite has to be sustained for the transformation to uphold.”

“So, the blood baths, that’s the continuation of the ritual?”

“Right. These kids, they’re all from the same lineage, Charlie stated the Peverell family? The Peverell family winds way back through Lore from Britiain across to Germany, Turkey, back to the Middle East, Babylonian times. These kids could definitely have blood of the original Lamia.”

“OK, so how do we kill it?”

“Well, it’s not a simple as killing it. We need to strip it of its binds.”

“How do we do that?”

“We need to cut it off from the source of the power. We must keep it starved – it’s not just eating the mother’s for fun, it’s sustaining the blood rite. The kids’ blood is to keep the aesthetics strong but ingesting the blood of the parents who also hold Lamia blood, is what really strengthens it. The more of the flesh it eats and blood it ingests, the more powerful the bind. Eventually there will become a point where it only needs to eat once a year to maintain its strength.”

“So, this must be a relatively new bind? This witch has metamorphed into a snake lady and is draining members of an ancient family to maintain her aesthetic beauty and strengthen her magic?”

“I think so.” Sam nodded. 

“Witches, man. I tell ya, nothing worse.” 

“Uh, guys?” Charlie chimed in. Sam and Dean both looked sideways towards her. “I think it might be more than that.”

“What more could there be?”

“We’re coming up the Blood Moon. This piece of mythology states that a bound Lamia can reproduce on the eve of its first Blood Moon.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other.

“Snake babies.” Dean muttered.

“This is bad. Charlie, what does the mating ritual entail?”

“Ahh, it looks like there hasn’t yet been a successful mating ritual! It’s pretty dark, old magic. The ingredients, well they’re hard to come by.”

“What does it need?”

“The blood of three Lamia virgins, a womb to hold the eggs, a virile holder of magic, star dust, unicorn horn, dragon scale powder, bones of familial, tears of a snake, and … that’s weird… pride and virtue.”

“Pride and virtue?”

“Yeah…” Charlie continued reading. “It seems, sort of impossible.”

“We’re talking about a blood bathing, kid killing, mom snacking, snake witch, Charlie. Impossible doesn’t begin to cover it.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Voldemort’s smile created panic in Hermione. 

Until now she had not seen him since the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco had kept her well hidden and protected, their rendezvous to the dungeons for experimental potions and charms had always been timed perfectly to ensure minimal chance of Hermione coming in contact with anyone. Their encounter with Rodolphus had been unfortunate, but one of only a handful of rare moments Hermione had been face to face with a Death Eater since being spirited into Draco’s room that first night, away from his Aunt.

Hermione remembered the look on Voldemort’s face as he and Bellatrix had played with her body prior to Bellatrix apparating her to Malfoy Manor. 

The same sick smile had creased his pasty white skin, then, too.

Her thighs flexed protectively, her internal muscles beginning to cramp at the sight of him.

He was a disturbed, psychopath with too much power, and wasted talent.

He strode towards the bed, looking at Hermione with wide eyes, directing his words at Draco.

“Your Mudblood is keeping well, boy?”

“Yes, Master.” Draco bowed his head. Hermione tried to follow suit but could not lower her gaze.

Voldemort came uncomfortably close to her, her nose almost touching his flat spread of skin with slitted nostrils. She could feel his cold exhale on her face.

“You look… healthyyyy…” He hissed.

Hermione whimpered.

“Draco. The Blood Moon approaches. I am sure your Auntie has informed you of our plans?”

“Ah, Master, my Aunt only tells me what I need to know. She safe guards your most precious plans as rightly she should. Your goals are not for those of us external to the plan to know. This ensures secrecy and compliance.”

“But boyyyyy, you are intrinsic to my plan… as is thisssss.” He reached out and stroked Hermione’s stomach. She sucked her stomach in away from his fingers.

“My Lord, I do not understand?” Draco chanced at raising his head, but Voldemort’s eyes were still on Hermione’s body.

“Tut, tut, young Mudblood. You have not told your Master what happened to you…”

Hermione shook her head, not daring to open her mouth. She could not give it away that her potion had broken Bellatrix’s enchantments. 

“I give you permisssssion to talk.”

“Th-thank-you, My, uh, Lord.” Hermione tasted poison on her tongue as the words stammered from her lips.

“Tell him nooowwwwww.” Voldemort pointed his wand at Hermione’s heart and she felt the charm break, the one Bellatrix had placed there to prevent Hermione spilling Voldemort’s ultimate plan.

Voldemort floated backwards, his feet dangling above the soft carpet.

He hovered in the door way.

“On the night of the Blood Moon, at eleven minutes past eleven, Draco.”

Voldemort twitched his finger towards Hermione.

“You will bring me the vessel.”

“As you wish, My Lord.”

The door slammed shut and Hermione burst into tears.


	6. Chapter 6

“No, Dean. I have never fought a Lamia. From what I know they are rare creatures imbued with magic. If one is created, not born, they must feed constantly to fuel their transformation.”

“We know all that, Cass. Do you have any more information on how to kill it?”

“No… but I know someone who may…”

“Your face is doing that thing.”

“What thing.”

“The thing when you want to do something you think is a bad idea.”

“Ah, so my face is now mimicking yours.”

“Very funny, Cass. Who is it?”

“Lilith.”

“Lilith is dead.”

“No, she is just within The Other.”

“The Other?”

“She was one of God’s very first creations, she was made by the dust of the earth as was Adam. As she is made from the earth she will survive in some form in some place as long as the earth lives. She created the first Lamia.”

“Cass, what are you talking about?”

“God made Lilith to accompany Adam, but she would not submit to his will. She was free and wild. Adam begged God to make a new wife, but God said no.   
Then my brother visited Lilith.”

“Your brother?”

“Lucifer. Or, as he was known then, the Morning Star.”

“Right.”

“He appeared as a snake, he attempted to coerce Adam, but Adam was frightened. Lilith, on the other hand, wanted to leave the confines of the Garden. Lucifer showed her visions of a new life, a beautiful world, a world with free will. She bit the apple and made love to my brother.”

“Wait, I thought you said he was a snake in the Garden?”

“Yes. Why are you confused?”

“Um, I guess I’m not. Continue.”

“Lilith birthed the first Lamia. God cast her out of the Garden, her spawn and my brother were thrown from Paradise, too. Her spawn went into hiding. My brother was never very paternal, and they both felt betrayed by our father. Lucifer and Lilith began plotting, but Michael intervened. Lilith stayed loyal to my brother. Their child went into hiding. God forged Adam a wife from his rib to stave off loneliness.”

“So, we can contact Lilith in The Other?”

“You can’t. I can.”

“No, Cass, if this is some sort of mystical spiritual journey to the darkest depths of the universe, I’d rather we just use trial and error. I can’t risk losing you again. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

“Dean. If it were just about me, I would agree with you. This witch is using potent black magic, conjuring darkness and controlling forces beyond which we’ve encountered. You know, and I know, I have to talk to Lilith.”

“Take me with you.”

“It’s too dangerous. You’re mortal.”

“No! The Lamia sniffed me, she said I am more than human.”

Cass leaned in and sniffed Dean’s neck. 

“It is true. You are more than human.”

“I’m the vessel.”

“Yes. You have Angel in your blood. You may be able to join me and survive.”

“Great. What do we need?”

“Unfortunately, Dean… we need to die.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco offered Hermione a silk handkerchief.

“It was just before she brought me here. She found me dueling my way from the hall. I was caught off guard, I had thought her dead! She was supposed to be dead!” Hermione sobbed and hiccoughed. Draco found her hand and entwined their fingers.

“What did she do?”

“She stupefied me. Took me to an empty room. She pressed her fingers to her mark. Voldemort appeared. They lay me on a table as they studied me. Bellatrix magically removed my clothing. She used her wand to slice my stomach open, my chest, she cracked my ribs open with her bare hands. It was the worst pain I have ever endured, Draco. I thought I was going to die.”

“But you didn’t, because you are strong, Hermione, so strong.”

“Then… then she began removing my organs. She cast a spell on me to keep me alive, everything was working how it would if my body had been intact, but she was splicing and splitting and cutting, and I could see her, I could see her remove my pancreas, my liver, the kidneys. They inspected each organ. I thought they were going to eat them, the way they looked at my body.”

Draco felt his stomach churn. He hadn’t heard about any of this from his Aunt, nor his parents.

Suddenly he understood many of Hermione’s behaviours. 

How she would always turn from him when her stomach or chest had a chance of exposure.

How she recoiled from the gentlest of touches. He had learnt the only touch she accepted was one she initiated, or on the palm of her hand, sometimes her hair.

Why she clutched herself around the middle when she cried in her sleep. She’d slept with Draco from the first night, he was too scared to give her a bedroom in case she had a midnight visitor. He protected her best he could, and that meant being with her almost twenty-four hours a day.

What had begun as another component to the plan - protect Granger, continue with the mission, work towards Voldemort’s defeat - had turned into an easy companionship.

She demanded solitude while she bathed but allowed him to prepare her baths in the en suite adjoining his bedroom. Sometimes he would knock quietly, and she would allow him to speak to her from the doorway.

She would sit on the edge of the bath reading while he showered. She never looked at him while he was naked. He watched her, either blatantly, or through slitted eyes, or via the mirror, but her head was always buried in a book as he walked from shower to towel. He had come to accept that she just needed company.

Sometimes when they slept side by side, the moon shining through his window lighting her face, he would wonder what it would be like to make love to her.

Hearing her story, he was thankful he had never tried.

She was traumatised.

She sat shaking as she continued with the gory details. They had stripped her down to her skeleton; she had still been conscious, still able to view, to hear, to process what was happening to her body. Her skin was flayed from her muscles, her nervous system separated from her bones, her spinal column hanging above her split skull. Every cell in her body had systematically been removed, inspected, and then replaced, until she had been rebuilt.

“Yes. She will do well, Bellatrix. You have made a wise decision. We need to continue diluting the inbreeding, however, it cannot be with a commoner. She has enough ancient material in her genes to strengthen the magic passed down a generation. She is bright, bright enough to have almost thwarted me.”

“No one is that bright, My Lord. You are the most clever, the most magnificent - ”

“Quiet, Bellatrix. I am aware. Tell me. How has your body been since your transformation?”

“Well, My Lord. My hunger cannot be satiated, however. We have taken more than enough prisoners of war to last me until the Blood Moon. If more are required, we have intel which shall lead us to the right blood lines living in the muggle world.”

“Let us hope it does not come to that. Control your thirst, Bellatrix. Even if there is food in the pantry, it does not pay to be greedy. Show discipline. Show courage.”

“Yes, my Lord. However, the ritual, it requires innocence, pride, virtue and virginity.”

“Hmm… that is true. If none of those you have taken fit the criteria, you have my permission to hunt what you require.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

“Take the Mudblood to Malfoy Manor. Ensure she is protected. Enchant her body – I want none to spoil her. She must remain pristine, intact. Her womb will bear our children, Bellatrix. She will be the vessel.”

“Yes, My Lord.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Been there, done that, let’s get it going.”

“Not so fast, Dean. We need a ritual.”

Dean sighed.

“Of course, we do. Let me guess. We need a witch.”

“Well, unless you can invoke Enochian sigils while holding both our souls in the balance and maintaining a protective circle around our bodies.”

“Got it, Cass, cut the sarcasm.”

“It was a genuine question, Dean.”

“Who do we know who can do all that?”

A knock sounded at their door.

“Dean?”

“Come on in, Charlie.”

“I’ve been doing some research. I think I know what we need to do next; contact the Mother Lamia. There’s an incantation, I’ve seen the symbols somewhere before, I have a basic understanding of them, but I’m not fluent in this pictographic language.”

Cass stepped forwards and began pointing at the squiggles on the page.

“This one is protection, this one is for life, this one holds the balance, this one requires a sacrifice before it will activate.”

“Yeah, it’s curious, because when that one is next to this one,” Charlie turned back three pages and held the book up to Cass. “This little sun beam, it seems to indicate the sacrifice should be light?”

“Angel Grace. I can supply that.”

“And this one is unfinished?”

“Yes, it is meant to be completed dependant on location. In this instance we would fill in inner circle with the sigil for The Other, as that is the intended destination. Here,” Cass took the book and it magically opened at page near the back. Dean craned his neck to see a small dot contained in a circle within a square with spikes at the top and the base. “This represents The Other.”

“Oh, well then, we have everything we need.”

Dean put his hands in the air. “Wait, wait, wait. Charlie, are you telling me you can read Enochian?”

“Yes.” She nodded curtly, her eyes not leaving the page.

“And you’ve already deciphered the ingredients, and the method of activation, and, well, everything?”

Charlie huffed. “Obvi.” Her voice came out sing-song as she continued tracing the sigils with her eyes.

“Charlie, can you kill Cass and I?”

“Oh, Dean. I thought you’d never ask!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Hermione, we need to leave tonight.” Draco stood, his cheeks as pink as she’d seen them.

His sudden change in demeanour snapped her out of her depressive melancholy. 

“Draco, we have no plan, we have no solid idea of how to travel to Luna’s, we have no idea what we’re doing!”

“How many times did you, Potter and Ginger go in gung-ho with no real plan, and come out fine?” Draco demanded, his fingers pushing his fringe from his face.

“Well, it was different. We weren’t in a snake-pit with eyes on our every move, forced to reside in a single wing with one another.”

The words, though well meaning, stung Draco. So, she considered her time with him “forced.” Of course, she did. Why would she think differently, even knowing that he had been on their side? He had still committed his actions, still laughed at them, bullied them, called her the worst name a Wizard could use against another. He was still a Malfoy. 

The Dark Mark tingled on his arm.

He pushed the thoughts aside.

“Hermione, tell me again, precisely, what did Voldemort say about your body? About your virtue?”

“I was to be protected.”

“Yet Bellatrix’s first command of me was to hurt you. She was never going to Avada you, she was playing me, to see if I would save you. I fell for it. She then forced me to take you to my room, and she stood outside while I pretended to rape you.”

“Is that how she told you to hurt me?”

“Yes. It didn’t make sense. She’s never been… inclined in that fashion. Now it’s clear, she was testing me again. If I had really gone through with it something would have happened to me, she or Voldemort would have put a curse on you.”

“Yes. He lifted it earlier. I felt it pulled from my heart. Like tentacles had been pried from my soul. I can think clearly now.”

“She’s known the whole time. She knew when the curse wasn’t activated that night.”

“Then why did she let me stay with you?”

“Her Master’s bidding. Voldemort told her to see to it you were protected. I’ve been protecting you. She killed two Gryndilows with one blast of her wand You’ve come to no harm. And she proved me a turn-cloak.”

Hermione’s face was now as flushed as Draco.

“We don’t have to leave tonight, Draco. We have until the Blood Moon.”

“Do we? Why would Voldemort remove your curse and force you to tell me what happened… unless… they’re waiting for me to react.”

“Then don’t. Just stay and play your part.”

“If we stay and continue on, we are placing our own necks on the guillotine.”

“We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Draco, if we react, they’ll kill you and still utilise my body. If we don’t act, we have time at our disposal – not much, but more than one night.”

“I won’t be able to sleep, now.”

“If she has known the entire time, then nothing has changed aside from the fact that we now know she knew. It makes her that much more dangerous. It makes our situation more challenging. However, you are Draco Malfoy and I am Hermione Granger. We can do this.”

Hermione smiled at him and Draco slightly relaxed. The adrenaline was still coursing through his body, and he knew he had to do something.

“Hermione get a quill and some parchment. Now that we have somewhere to go, and you are no longer enslaved by Bella’s shackles, we have a chance. We need to act quickly, but you’re right in that we can’t act tonight. Whatever the reason for this reveal, it happened today. Something has changed in Malfoy Manor. 

Voldemort always has a reason for doing what he did.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I, I don’t know. I’ve been spending so much time with you, making sure you’re never alone, that I have fallen behind in my other Death Eater duties. I had no idea of this plan until you revealed it to me. I had no idea what you’d been through. I’ve been so ashamed of my own past, my alliance with these torturers, that   
I began shrinking into myself. I told myself it was for the best, to do what I had promised Bellatrix… none of it was needed by them. None of them would have touched you.”

“But, Rodolphus?”

“Most likely sent by my Aunt. If I had offered him permission to take you, he may have taken you, but not harmed you. But I said no. I proved once more that I was no longer on their side.”

Draco began screaming incoherently.

Hermione quickly cast a muffliato towards his bedroom door.

“I cannot believe this!” Draco’s face was more flushed than she had ever seen. “They’ve been playing me, and I thought I was one step ahead! I’m so stupid, no wonder they never told me their intentions. They’ve known the entire time. Must have suspected it before that first night, for Bella to so quickly want to test me. 

There is no reason for them not to have killed me. I should be dead!”

“Draco… please, breathe…” Hermione calmly, quietly commanded. 

Draco looked at her, her eyes soothing him. 

His heart was shattered. 

He hadn’t done a good enough job protecting her.

He sighed. He walked towards her and sat on the bed with her. She had conjured the quill and parchment and was waiting patiently. She took his hand and together they say in silence, understanding that this was no longer a waiting game. 

It was time for action.

**Author's Note:**

> Unedited, so forgive any small discrepancies or mistakes.


End file.
